


Hero

by Rhianne



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhianne/pseuds/Rhianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted and facing another night in a hospital waiting room, Chris makes a decision that will affect everybody's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

Hero

 

Throwing the car into the first parking space he could find, Chris switched off the engine and checked his watch, grimacing when he saw the time.

Climbing out of the car, he hurried across the road and into the bar, wincing slightly at the cacophony of noise that hit him as he walked through the door. When he’d left Ops that evening, Chris had wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into bed, desperate to try and make up for at least some of the hours of sleep that he’d lost that week. Instead he’d had to struggle through central London traffic to reach Finnsbury Park, at the same time trying to send a text message to tell Paul that he was still on his way, and no, the fact that he was already an hour late didn’t automatically mean he wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet Paul, it had been much too long since the two men had been in London at the same time, and Chris had felt the absence more keenly than he’d expected. Working as part of a team in a high-risk job like the SEALS meant that people became close quickly, needing the strong bonds of loyalty and friendship to enable them to survive the more dangerous missions they undertook. These weren’t the usual day-to-day friendships either, strong during the years when they’re being continually reinforced and then quickly forgotten with distance, but a lifelong friendship, and one that Chris treasured.

In fact, it was a testament to the strength of their friendship that Chris hadn’t cancelled at the last minute, tempting as it was to make some vague excuse and then crawl under the covers at home in a desperate search for rejuvenating sleep. Weeks had passed since he and Sam had managed even a single afternoon off work, and Chris knew that it was likely to be another few weeks at least before things began to calm down, but Paul would be out of the country within a day or two, and so if they were going to meet this side of the New Year, it had to be tonight.

Exhaustion shadowed every step he took as he began to ease his way through the crowded bar, looking for the extra height and shock of blonde hair that would identify his friend, and praying that the man had managed to find a seat somewhere, so that he wouldn’t have to stand for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, most of the bar’s occupants were already standing, and that knowledge only served to depress him further.

God, he needed to sleep.

“Hey, flyboy!”

Only the sound of Paul’s voice rising above the crowd made Chris realise that he’d been staring hopelessly around him for a few minutes, and he began to move in the general direction of the voice, pushing past the usual crowd of blatantly underage girls dressed up to the extreme in order to get past bouncers who probably didn’t care whether they were eight or eighty, as long as their skirts were short.

Finally he saw his friend to one side of the bar itself, and broke into a broad grin that was half for Paul, and half at the sight of the empty chair obviously being kept for him. He sank into it gratefully, picking up the Bud that was also waiting for him and taking a long swig before recovering enough to manage a greeting.

Leaning comfortably back in his chair, Paul watched Chris thoughtfully for a second before shaking his head with a wry grin. “London life doesn’t seem to be doing you any good, man. You look wrecked!”

Chris rolled his eyes, fighting a rueful smile. “Gee, thanks.”

Paul leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly until Chris had to concentrate to hear him over the din. “So, what’s CI5 got you doing this time?”

Then it was Chris’ turn to frown. “Paul, you know I can’t tell you that.”

His friend merely grinned in exasperation before taking another swig of drink. “Sorry, I forgot. Man, I was sick and tired of all that need-to-know, for-your-eyes-only James Bond crap before I left the service – how do you still live with it?”

Chris merely shrugged, his mind helpfully supplying a dozen different instances where the secrecy of his job had left shattered friendships and relationships in its wake, all in the name of duty.

Sometimes, he wondered how he put up with it as well.

Obviously aware of Chris’ hesitation, Paul smiled. “Getting out of the SEALS was the best decision I ever made, Chris. Duty is one thing, but three years was more than enough. Sooner or later you have to start living before it kills you.”

“Oh, I do alright,” Chris replied absently, the hesitation in his voice uncomfortably clear even if Paul was choosing to ignore it.

“Yeah, I know.” Paul smiled again, tossing the now empty bottle onto the table with the others. “You always were more into all that saving the world stuff than I was. But to be honest, I’d rather have regular hours and someone to share my bed at night. Like I said, I’ve paid my dues.”

Following suit, Chris drained his own bottle before reaching for his wallet and fishing out a couple of notes. “How is Claire?”

Paul’s broad smile stopped Chris’ weary climb out of his chair, and he watched with growing delight as Paul lifted up his left hand and a gold ring glistened brightly in the light from the bar.

“Hey, congratulations!” Chris exclaimed. “This definitely calls for a drink,” he said, standing up and moving to the bar.

A few minutes passed before Chris was served but he was still smiling as he handed Paul another beer and took his seat.

“So when’s the big day?” he asked.

“We’ve not set a date yet, but sometime next year. Probably August or September.”

“Where are you going to live?” Chris asked as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not going to carry on commuting between here and New York, are you?”

Paul laughed, shifting in his seat as he replied. “Nah. The business is fairly well-established now, so we’re going to settle down in London, and just fly back to the States when we absolutely have to.”

Chris smiled. “She’s great, Paul. I’m glad you guys are doing so well.” 

Paul raised his bottle in an idle salute before his expression turned more serious. “I wish Terri could have been here for this,” he began hesitantly, as if unsure of Chris’ response.

The sound of his wife’s name brought with it the same sadness that Chris always felt, but the sharp bite of loss had faded a long time ago, to be replaced with dull pangs of regret and an acceptance that he knew would never completely fade.

“So do I,” he replied quietly, memories of Terri and Claire together flitting across his mind as he continued with a sad smile: “She would have loved this”.

A thoughtful silence hung between them for a few moments before Paul sighed and spoke again. “You know, if Claire and I are going to be able to stop flying back and forth to the States every five minutes, we could use someone over there we can trust not to screw us over in our absence.”

Still half-lost in his memories; it took Chris a few seconds before he absorbed exactly what Paul was asking. “Me?”

“Why not?” Paul shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a new sharpness in his posture and his eyes that told Chris that this was the real reason Paul had asked to meet up that night. “Don’t you think it’s about time you went home?”

The question startled Chris more than it should have done, and his reply was sharp as a result. “What are you talking about? This is my home.”

“No, it’s not,” Paul continued gently, fingers drumming on the bottleneck the only sign of his nervousness. “Chris, it was only six months after the wedding that you transferred here. Are you honestly telling me that you weren’t running away?”

“I wasn’t running,” Chris muttered, lifting his gaze from the table and looking intently at his friend. “They weren’t going to let me back in the SEALS, you know that. Malone offered me a position in CI5 – I can do some good here.”

“Truth, justice and the American way?” Paul scoffed. “You never really believed all that, Chris. I know you, remember? You were always the one who questioned our orders, who wanted to know the reasons *why*. There must be some reason you’re throwing yourself blindly behind all that duty crap these days.”

“There was a time when you believed in all that ‘crap’,” Chris said quietly, too tired to get angry at the accusations inherent in Paul’s words, but also aware that he hadn’t actually answered the question.

“Yes, I did. I still do,” Paul replied earnestly, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “But we fought in the SEALS for three years, and it was time for me to move on. I wanted to settle down and have a family, and you can’t have any kind of family life in the services. You told me that once, Chris, the day of your engagement, when you handed your resignation in to Simpson. Have you even met anyone since Terri?”

Chris frowned, hurt by the question and the emotions must have shown on his face, because Paul was back-pedalling before Chris had a chance to answer.

“Shit, that was low, I’m sorry. But look, all I’m asking is that you think about it.”

“I’m happy here, Paul,” Chris replied. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up in his seat and continued. “Just because I’m tired at the minute, doesn’t mean I’m ready to quit, or that I want to. I enjoy working for CI5, and I like living in London, so thanks…but no thanks.”

He expected another protest but Paul merely shrugged, picking up his bottle again. “Well, we’re not getting married for a while, the offer still stands, Chris.”

The quiet buzz of a cell phone vibrating in his pocket distracted Chris’ attention, and he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, only vaguely aware of Paul’s sigh as he checked the display.

Ops.

Even before he answered the call he knew what was coming, and a few terse sentences later he shoved his phone back in his pocket and resisted the urge to bang his head on the table in frustration.

He’d get no sleep tonight.

“Off to save the world again?” Paul asked mildly, glancing at his watch as he spoke.

“Something like that. Listen, I’m sorry…”

Paul waved the apology away and Chris trailed off, reaching for his keys as he climbed wearily to his feet. “Call me when you’re back in London?”

Paul nodded, and they exchanged a brief grin as Chris began to walk away. He’d only gone a few steps, though, when Paul called out to him once more.

“Hey Chris!” he turned back slightly, eyebrows raised as he waited. “If you ever get tired of playing the hero, you know where I am.”

Chris walked away without a word.

 

~*~*~

 

Chris drove back to headquarters on autopilot, barely aware of the things going on around him. Getting any sleep tonight was looking less and less likely, and to some extent he was pleased that he hadn’t headed straight home and been dragged out of a warm bed. He had worked through exhaustion before – it was practically a regular occurrence in CI5 these days, and it wasn’t just his need for rest that was keeping his attention off the road.

Paul’s engagement was terrific news, and long overdue in Chris’ opinion, but the conversation that followed had been less than welcome. His decision to move to London had never been about running away. Yes, he’d needed some space, somewhere to rebuild the shattered fragments of his life where people didn’t know about the massacre, where other people’s badly hidden pity weren’t a constant reminder of what he’d lost. But that didn’t mean he’d run away from anything. Paul’s accusation was ludicrous…so why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

He drove into the CI5 car park too fast, flashing his ID at the guard before tossing it irritably back onto the passenger seat. He could feel anger bubbling up now that the shock of the unexpected conversation had worn off. Sure, given the choice he’d rather have been living in the States with Terri and a couple of kids, but that was never going to happen now, and in the intervening years he’d done his best to make a life for himself in London. How dare Paul dismiss his efforts with such casual disdain?

Climbing wearily out of the car, Chris made the journey to the third floor with a scowl on his face, aware of the air of misery and irritation shrouding him like a shadow. Stepping out of the elevator and into Ops didn’t help his mood much. The room was quiet, a sea of people focused solely on work instead of the idle chatter that usually accompanied their work. Ops was only ever like this when something bad had happened, or when the workload was above even its usual manic level, and Chris could feel his mood dropping even further. Heading over to the desk where Sam was examining what looked like architectural plans, Chris wasn’t heartened when Sam looked up and saw him, the ghost of a tired smile gracing his partner’s face for a few seconds before Sam straightened.

“Hey Chris,” Sam said, the exhaustion in his face matching Chris’ own greeting as he cast his eye over Chris’ clothes – the same ones he’d been wearing when he left earlier that day. “Didn’t you even make it home before they called you back in?”

Chris simply shook his head in reply, dumping his jacket onto a nearby chair before raking a hand through his hair and trying to force his brain to function at even half its usual speed. “What’s going on?”

“Harley and Dunn have been held up in the States, some problem with their plane. We’re taking over the Robson stakeout for them.”

Chris groaned. A stakeout? Malone would be lucky if he managed to stay awake for more than a couple of hours. “Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?” he asked impulsively.

Malone’s rich voice announced his presence as he approached. “No, Mr. Keel, there is not. Contrary to popular opinion I don’t enjoy pulling agents in when off-duty, though I understand you were in a pub when Mr. Spencer called you?”

Chris didn’t reply, instead glancing over at Spence who shrugged apologetically. Malone continued, seemingly unperturbed by Chris’ lack of response. “Mr. Harley has found concrete proof of a link between the arms smuggling ring they’ve been investigating in New Orleans and a club in London called First Impressions. I want you to watch the club until Mr. Harley calls again with more information.” 

Nodding, Sam leant over the plans again.

“There are two entrances to Impressions – the public entrance at the front of the building, and the staff entrance down the left hand side. Backup and Denton will watch the front entrance, and we’ll take the side.”

Chris followed Sam and they quickly gathered up the various pieces of equipment they needed to take with them. Sam took the keys to the Nissan without question and Chris had to bite back a sigh of relief – he was in no mood to drive tonight. The traffic was heavy in spite of the late hour, and it seemed like every road they travelled was full of road works and cones that made things ten times worse. Chris stared silently out of the window, aware of Sam’s occasional glances but in no mood to reassure his partner that everything was alright when he wasn’t all that sure it was. 

Briefly he wondered whether he was being fair on Sam – in all honesty he probably wasn’t up to being on duty tonight even if it was only a stakeout, particularly when the simplest things had a nasty tendency to go wrong whenever CI5 were involved. If he had any sense he’d call Ops and try to get a replacement to meet them even if it meant incurring the wrath of Malone. Then he dismissed the thought with an angry shake of his head. So he was in a bad mood – so what? He’d gone to work with worse, and however pissed he was that was no reason to let Sam down. Besides, logically he had no idea why Paul’s words had got to him so badly. 

Finally they pulled in a few car lengths away from the entrance to First Impressions and Sam switched off the engine.

“We should be all right here,” Sam said thoughtfully, “there are enough people around that no-one will notice us for a while.”

Chris nodded, forcing his attention back to the job in hand and looking out of the window. Sam was right, the street was bustling with people moving in and out of the club, the late license guaranteeing a steady stream of clubbers for a good few hours yet. Even so, Malone would have to send someone to relieve them sooner or later – the biggest crowd in the world wouldn’t stop people with the paranoia that came with secrets from noticing two men sitting in the same parked car for a couple of hours.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Chris pulled out the file and started leafing through the notes, finally pulling out two glossy photographs and holding them up to the glare of a nearby streetlamp.

David Robson, First Impressions’ managing director and owner was a well-built man with a grey beard that had obviously aged faster than the rest of his brown hair. Mid 50’s with a penchant for designer suits that even Sam probably envied, the man obviously liked his creature comforts. It was that, along with the fact that his extravagance didn’t quite match even his substantial income and some general concern over the club’s more regular VIP members that had first attracted CI5’s attention. More than that CI5 still didn’t really know, though Harley’s rushed phone call from the US meant that there was obviously more to it lying just beneath the surface.

Chris assumed that Malone would tell them the rest of it before the shooting started, because there was always shooting, and my, wasn’t he feeling cynical tonight? He dumped the file back in the glove compartment in disgust, earning himself another concerned glance from the driver’s seat. There was silence for a few minutes before the inevitable questions began.

“Is everything okay, Chris?”

Chris glanced briefly at his partner before shrugging and turning back to face the door of the club. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He frowned at the tone in his voice – he sounded anything but fine.

“Have you broken up with Nicole?” Sam asked, “is that who you met in the pub?”

“No – I was meeting an old friend, a guy I used to know in the SEALS.”

“What, is he on leave or something?” Curiously had started inching into Sam’s usual questioning and Chris couldn’t help but smile.

“He retired from the services. He’s a civilian now, runs a computing company.”

Sam grinned. “He was the sensible one, then.”

Surprised by Sam’s comment, Chris turned back to face his partner. “Have you ever thought about leaving?”

“Sure, every time I have to cancel a date.”

“Really?”

Sam obviously picked up the earnestness in Chris’ voice, because he frowned slightly as he looked at his friend, and hesitated before answering. “In all honesty? I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about it, Chris. There must be easier – and safer - ways of earning a living. But no, not seriously.”

Chris was shocked to find that for some reason he was almost - disappointed - at Sam’s answer. “Why?”

“Well, I guess I believe in what we’re doing here. I’m not sure I ever could go back to being a civilian; leaving it to other people, not knowing what I know now.”

Chris nodded, remembering another conversation they’d had, years before. Sam’s bastion of freedom and justice quip had only half been a joke, even then – he really did believe in their cause, and obviously always had done.

Then it was Sam’s turn to ask a question. “What made you ask, Chris?”

“Oh, just something Paul said at the bar,” Chris replied dismissively, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Sam didn’t push further, apparently taking Chris’ explanation at face value. The conversation turned to more mundane things, the usual banter that helped pass the time on stakeouts, but Chris was well aware that his attention was only ever half on the things going on around him. The other half was replaying his conversation with Paul over and over again, and wondering why it was still bothering him.

 

~*~*~

 

The door banged loudly behind him as it closed, and Chris winced as the sound echoed down the corridor. Loud noises at 4am were just another thing for his neighbours to complain about next time they saw him. Long past the need for sleep, the steady stream of caffeine that had got him through the stakeout now conspiring evilly to keep him awake, Chris hung his jacket on its hook as he wandered into the living room, wondering what to do next. Even if he wasn’t irritatingly wide awake, there would have been no point in sleeping. He had to be back at HQ by 9, and snatching three hours sleep instead of the full night he needed would only leave him groggy and sluggish for the rest of the day. There were times when it was easier just to stay awake right through. Pulling himself a can of beer from the fridge, Chris crossed over to the window and pulled up the blind, staring out over the silent graveyard.

There was no-one there of course, not at this hour. The only people who ever went there after dark certainly weren’t there to pay their respects to the dead, often choosing to re-affirm life in a totally different way, but even the few who got a kick out of a setting as morbid as a graveyard had usually cleared away by this hour of the morning. The side of the cemetery that Chris could see through the darkness was overgrown, the grass higher than the tombstones themselves in places. They were the forgotten dead, people who had no relatives left living to complain about the neglect of those who were paid to care. 

Chris had never gone down to take a closer look, but even from a distance the land was a far cry from the place it always reminded him of, where the grass was always neat and men in uniform were often seen paying their respects to fall comrades. 

Or their wives.

It had been a long time since he’d visited Terri’s grave, distance and a punishing workload proving useful reasons to put off the journey until first a year, then two, had passed. For the first time in years Chris could feel a real desire to visit her, the memories once again stirred up by his brief conversation with Paul.

Now, looking out over the still graves, Chris relished the silence, the strange sense of peace that such places had always given him. Perhaps that was why he’d only visited Terri’s grave three times before leaving the US – cemetery’s were always one step removed from reality, eternal reminders of people who could no longer be hurt by cruel twists of fate. Chris had never wanted to find that peace by Terri’s grave, somehow feeling that it would be like finally accepting she was gone. 

Those few times he’d visited had been too soon after her death, the loss still too raw to truly face, and Chris had to admit to himself that part of his reason for coming to London was to make it that much easier to avoid visiting her grave. Back then, he hadn’t been ready to deal with it.

But now, five years later, Chris knew that he’d long since accepted that she was never coming back. Perhaps Paul was right, it was time for Chris to go back to the States, even if just for a visit, to finally say goodbye and lay the ghosts of his past to rest for once and for all. 

Not that it meant Paul was right about anything else he’d said. Chris hadn’t run away from anything, no matter what it might look like to other people. Yes, he’d left the States just months after the wedding, but Malone had offered him the job, and Chris had needed a clean break from everything before he could get his life back together – the move to London had seemed ideal. 

Draining the rest of his drink, Chris ignored the voice inside his head that was asking exactly how that was any different from running away.

Suddenly restless, Chris dumped the can in the trash and wandered out of the kitchen. 4:30am – anyone with any sense would be asleep right now instead of dragging up old memories. Maybe that was it. He was so damn tired, Paul’s remarks had simply had more impact than they should have done. Yes, that was it. All he needed was a little sleep, even if he knew he’d regret it in the morning when he had to drag himself back to work.

Decision made, Chris kicked off his shoes and moved into the bedroom, perching on the edge of the bed as he slid his gun under the pillow. Terri’s photograph stared at him from the bedside table, and Chris resisted the urge to pick up the photograph as he started to undo his shirt, instead simply looking at it illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. 

He could trace the lines of the photograph in his sleep, and more than once in those early days he’d smashed the glass in grief-stricken rage. He’d been angry that she looked so happy, that they’d both been so blissfully unaware of how desperately short their time together would really be. Sighing, Chris quickly shed the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed, turning on his side to face away from the picture before pulling the covers up as high as he could. Things would look better in the morning.

 

~*~*~

 

They didn’t, of course, and after a restless night Chris dragged himself out of bed feeling even more disorientated and lethargic than he had after the stakeout. He was tempted to call in sick, but CI5 was so busy at the moment that nothing short of the plague would stop him from being dragged in anyway, and enough people had seen him yesterday that he couldn’t claim to be that ill.

Besides, Malone was definitely of the opinion that if you were well enough to pick up the phone, you were well enough to come to work, even if only to sit at a desk and man the phones. And if he didn’t bother ringing at all, he’d have about half an hour’s peace before someone, probably Sam, kicked the door in, just in case an intruder had broken in and shot him in the middle of the night.

God, he loved his job.

Standing in the shower trying to wash some of the cobwebs away, Chris couldn’t help wondering, again, why he felt like this. CI5 was always understaffed and he was usually tired, but still the love of the job had always been enough to get him to work relatively chirpy, even if all he was looking forward to was annoying some of the local law enforcement.

He believed in what they were doing, whatever Paul had suggested the night before. CI5, the SEALS, even the police in their own way helped protect the public, and it was that belief that had kept him going in the dark months after the massacre. Yes, he questioned orders and at times he got frustrated, but the desire to protect, to save people the way he hadn’t been able to save his own family had given him the sense of purpose that he’d needed to claw back the remnants of his tattered self. 

Just because he’d spent most of the last couple of months doing paperwork, researching links and following money trails instead of actively being out there dealing with the bastards directly, that didn’t make his job any less important, even if he was honest enough to admit that he missed the adrenaline rush, the feeling of being alive that you could only get when you were a hair’s breath from death itself.

Maybe that was it. It was the adrenaline rush he needed, and months of paperwork, however necessary it was, had made him restless, giving him too much time to think, to doubt himself enough that Paul’s words had hit home. All he needed was to get back to what he was really good at, to remind himself of his training and why it was necessary, and everything would be fine.

Rinsing through his hair one last time before turning the shower off, Chris towelled himself down quickly. He was already starting to shiver in spite of the steam generated by the shower, the fading heat not enough to conquer the chill of a winter morning. Wrapping the towel around his waist he hurried back into the bedroom, muttering a curse as he saw the time ticking by on the clock by the door and began to get dressed. He was going to be late, though it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he wasn’t as punctual as Malone would have liked. Still, the man would have to wait. The way Chris was feeling at the moment, Malone should be counting himself lucky he was showing up at all.

 

~*~*~

 

Early the following morning, huddled into the passenger seat of the Nissan, Chris shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his hands together, trying to ward off the bitter cold. He sighed, absently watching his breath swirl away from him in the winter air before forcing his attention back to the building he was supposed to be watching. He would have given anything to be able to turn the heating on, but that would mean switching on the engine. With no lights on in the car Chris and Sam were well concealed, swallowed up by the dark, but a single light or the sound of an idling engine would attract attention to themselves that they really couldn’t afford. The club had closed two hours earlier, and there was no longer a logical reason for two men to be waiting outside when the streets around them were deserted.

All their inside information agreed that Robson was getting nervous, surreptitiously trying to gather his things together and liquidate what assets he could before making a run for it, and Malone had given specific instructions for them to keep a careful watch tonight in particular. The last thing CI5 needed was for him to slip away from them when they were hours away from moving in and arresting the entire gang. Even after all this time, the head of CI5 hadn’t quite forgiven them for losing Franco Cardulucci, and Chris had no desire to repeat the lecture that mistake had generated.

Folding his arms to try and warm up his hands, Chris made a mental note to find his gloves when he finally got home. November was way too cold to go outside without gloves. The way things were at the moment, a scarf and a hat wouldn’t go amiss either.

“Any idea when our replacements are arriving?” Sam asked, smothering a yawn.

Chris glanced at his watch, sighing again when he registered the time. 4am? He’d thought it was much later than that. “Backup’s coming over at seven, I think.”

“Typical. I had a cosy evening with Rebecca planned last night,” Sam continued. “She wasn’t pleased when I had to cancel again.”

Chris frowned, watching a couple of bar staff leave the club and making sure that no-one important followed them out before speaking. “Which one’s Rebecca?”

“The brunette I met at that bar a couple of weeks back. After the Franklin case.”

“Oh,” Chris muttered absently.

“Everything alright, Chris?” Sam asked, twisting round in his chair and taking his eyes off the entrance to the club.

“Fine.”

“You’ve seemed a bit preoccupied recently, that’s all.”

Chris sighed, glancing over at Sam for a second. At the obvious concern in his partner’s eyes he was tempted to confess all, to tell Sam what Paul had said in the hope that Sam could help him work out why it had bothered him so much. He took a deep breath, trying to decide where to start when a movement out of the corner of his eye attracted his attention. The door to the club swung slowly closed as two men in raincoats walked up the short flight of steps, glancing anxiously around them. Straightening up in his seat, Chris tapped Sam on the arm and gestured in their direction.

“Look.”

As he spoke Chris reached for his phone, hitting the speed dial for Ops. 

“We can’t risk losing them, Mr. Keel,” Malone replied, his voice echoing slightly through the headset. “Bring them in, we’ll have to hold them in custody until we’re ready to proceed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam and Chris were already moving as Malone spoke, climbing out of the car and closing the car doors before hurrying towards the unsuspecting men.

The man in front was definitely Robson, his beard plain to see in the dim lighting as he hurried towards the car, clutching the ever-present briefcase in one hand. 

Sam nodded to Chris and they separated, moving to opposite sides of the road and simultaneously drawing their guns before Chris called out: “David Robson?”

Without stopping to find out who was asking, Robson’s arm came up and Chris caught sight of a flash of dull metal reflected in the streetlamp.

“Gun!” he yelled, throwing himself out of the line of fire and hoping that Sam was doing the same. The first bullet slammed into the car that Chris had scrambled behind, glass shattering above him as a car alarm began to wail. Ducking instinctively, Chris brought his arms up to cover his head as tiny slivers of glass rained down. More bullets echoed but this time there was no glass, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that the answering gunfire was coming from Sam. Shaking his head to clear some of the glass that had settled in his hair, Chris turned and peered over the hood, trying to work out where Robson had taken cover. 

Sam’s shooting had drawn Robson’s fire, and Chris used the distraction to move behind a car a few feet away where he had a better view of Robson, who was pinned down by Sam’s bullets near the steps down to the club doorway. As he did so he scanned his surroundings, trying to see where Robson’s companion had gone.

The man’s blond hair was lit up by the glare from a nearby streetlamp for just a second, and Chris realised in horror that he’d managed to crawl his way towards Sam’s position, silently moving until he had a clear shot. 

“Sam!” Chris yelled just as the man fired two shots in Sam’s direction. Chris returned fire, cutting the man down before he could fire again but even as the man fell Chris heard his partner cry out in pain. He risked a glance in Sam’s direction, knowing he had to keep an eye on Robson in case the man tried anything, but needing to see if Sam was alright.

“Sam?” he called. 

There was no answer.

Robson took advantage of his distraction, firing at him and driving him back behind his meagre cover, and once safely out of sight Chris scrambled a few feet to the right, rolling to his knees two cars away from where he’d ducked down. 

When Robson’s head came into view Chris fired, thanking every firearms trainer he’d ever had that his single shot was enough to drop the arms dealer.

Gun still raised, he approached Robson quickly, kicking the gun away from the man’s body before kneeling to verify that there was no pulse, even though the bullet wound visible between the man’s eyes made that a certainty.

He jogged across the street to Robson’s companion, performing the same checks and ignoring the sightless eyes that stared up at him as he finally allowed himself to run towards Sam.

Rounding the edge of the car where he’d last seen his partner, Chris holstered his gun and reached for his cell phone when he saw Sam lying on the ground, eyes closed and blood beginning to pool on the sidewalk beneath him, dripping down into the gutter.

“Sam!” he called, dropping to his knees and feeling for a pulse as he fumbled for his phone. It was still there, weak and uneven but Sam was still breathing, and Chris heard a faint moan as he pressed firmly down onto the wound just below Sam’s ribcage.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered as his call was answered, and he spoke without giving whoever was on the other end a chance to identify themselves.

“Four-five. I need an ambulance outside First Impressions,” he began, hearing the tremor in his own voice and praying that whoever was manning the phones tonight had read up on the surveillance operations that were underway and knew where he was.

A second’s pause, and then: “Ambulance is on its way, four-five.” Spencer’s voice was calm and reassuring, and Chris sighed in relief that he hadn’t had to waste time with unnecessary explanations. “Do you require backup?”

“Yes. Suspects have been neutralised but Sam’s been shot. I have no idea who else is in the club.”

Another pause, and then Malone’s voice came over the speaker. “Are you hurt, Mr Keel?”

“No, just get the ambulance here!” Chris urged. He cut the connection then, realising as blood continued to seep through his fingers that it would take both hands to try and stop the bleeding. Already his hands were slick with Sam’s blood, and he cursed as he pulled off his jacket and sweater, balling up the woollen material and pressing it firmly into the wound. Sam shifted as he did so, his head turning ever so slightly to one side.

“Sam?” Chris called, reaching up to lightly tap Sam’s cheek before quickly moving his hand back to the wound. “Sam? Are you with me?”

There was nothing for a few seconds and then green eyes flickered open, dull with pain and barely focusing as Sam stared dazedly up at him.

“Come on Sam, I need you to stay with me,” Chris tried again, his voice as commanding as he could make it when his own heart was pounding out of control and he couldn’t quite keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Chris?” His voice was barely audible, the barest hiss of consonants but as Sam’s eyes latched on to him Chris could see his gaze sharpen. Then he groaned, eyes closing for just a second as Sam grimaced in pain. “Shit,” he whispered, swallowing slowly before making a conscious effort to pull his thoughts together. “Robson?”

“He’s dead. So is the other one,” Chris answered curtly, the sickly smell of the blood beneath his hands making his stomach churn. “You’ll be all right, there’s an ambulance coming, but you need to stay awake, okay?”

Sam nodded. “So much…for a quiet stakeout,” he whispered.

Chris smiled down at his partner. “It’s no fun unless we give Malone something to shout about, right?” The comeback was expected, a staple part of the way their partnership worked when things got rough, but it sounded feeble even to Chris’ own ears. He glanced down at the wound, noting with a mixture of relief and concern that although it hadn’t yet stopped bleeding completely, the blood was seeping much slower than before.

Chris was so focused on Sam that the sound of the sirens took a while to register, and the ambulance was pulling up alongside the club before he realised it was even nearby. “Ambulance is here, Sam,” he said, and Sam nodded with a weak smile before allowing his eyes to close again. 

Seconds later two paramedics appeared carrying bags of medical equipment, and Chris found himself being pushed gently but firmly out of the way as they tended to his partner.

 

~*~*~

 

By the time Backup and Spencer had arrived, Sam had already been stabilised and whisked away to hospital. Chris dearly wanted to go with him, but someone had to stay at the scene, and reluctantly his sense of duty won out. Once the ambulance had gone Chris did what little he could to secure the scene, grateful that there had been no-one else around at such an early hour of the morning. It seemed to take an eternity for the scene to be secured enough that he could leave, and Chris spent most of the time sitting on the sidewalk watching the others work, holding his sodden sweater and absently kneading the fabric as he wondered how Sam was doing.

When he finally left the ride to the hospital was a blur of lights and growing traffic as the early commuters began to travel through London to work, but since Backup was driving he simply stared out the window, seeing little of the life and variety that made up the sprawling city.

The hospital was no different to all the others Chris had visited over the years – bustling, overworked staff, anxious relatives and an overpowering smell of antiseptic in a building that was always kept slightly too warm. There was only one reason why a hospital visit could ever be a joyous occasion, and Chris hadn’t been with Terri long enough for that to have happened. He’d spent far too much time in waiting rooms like these – calming colours on the walls; unassuming paintings of beaches and sunsets, always in soothing pastel colours – he hated them. And if he hadn’t been in the waiting room then he was the patient, and that meant something had been screwed up somewhere and he’d been shot, or stabbed, or any of a hundred reasons why he’d been taken to the ER since the beginning of his military career.

Sometimes Chris wasn’t sure which was worse – to be injured and facing days or weeks of enforced immobility before having to fight to get back on duty, or to be waiting for news on a friend or family member, always so terribly aware that the news could very easily be bad. 

I’m sorry, Mr. Keel. We did everything we could…

…I’m afraid your father didn’t survive surgery…

…your sister will never walk again…

…your wife has died…

He’d seen too much loss, too much heartache, and sitting on the hard plastic chair waiting for news of his partner, with Sam’s blood still staining his hands and clothes, Chris wasn’t sure how he’d deal with more bad news if it came tonight as well. Had Sam’s gunshot wound been that bad? It was low down, certainly nowhere near his heart, but then there was always the risk it had nicked the edge of a lung or cause serious internal bleeding. After all, people could bleed out internally and never spill a single drop of blood onto the pavement, and there had been quite a pool left behind when the paramedics had finally whisked Curtis away. But then Sam had been awake, and talking, and Chris had detected no sign of laboured breathing.

But hell, it had seemed to take forever to get the bleeding stopped, and the sidewalk had been running red by the time the ambulance had left. 

Chris buried his head in his hands in despair, unwittingly spreading streaks of drying blood across his face and hair. A gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him that Backup was in the chair next to his, and he glanced up wearily, touched by the obvious concern on her face.

“He’ll be all right, Chris,” she said softly, tightening her grip on his shoulder and pulling him close to her. “He’s strong, remember?”

Chris didn’t have the heart to remind her that his father had been strong, too; as had Wilmott, Tom Perry, Terri, and all the other people he’d known who had been shot over the years. Sometimes it didn’t matter how strong you were – bullets didn’t discriminate against the weak.

Seven people had died at his wedding, eleven more permanently injured, and for what? No-one had ever been convicted of the massacre; no reason for it had ever been discovered. Half of the people at the wedding hadn’t even been connected to the military by anything other than birth or marriage – his sister had been a burgeoning jockey, until two bullets in the base of the spine had destroyed any chance of developing the career she once had.

The same could even be said for those who had died on duty in CI5 or in the Navy. There was nothing noble about dying for your country – fighting against corrupt politicians, arms-dealers or drug smugglers when they all knew that however quickly they put them in prison, it would only be a matter of days before someone equally nasty stepped in to take their place. Sometimes it seemed like nothing they did ever really made a difference.

And if Sam had been killed because of some stupid arms-dealing case that shouldn’t even have been given to CI5 in the first place…

“Chris,” Backup continued. “You should get yourself checked out while we’re waiting for news.”

“I’m fine,” Chris replied, not bothering to turn and look at her.

“Chris,” she protested, her voice turning slightly impatient. “You’re covered in blood, and not all of it’s Sam’s. Have you even seen yourself?” When he didn’t reply she sighed, shaking her head. “At least go and clean yourself up a little. I’ll stay here in case we hear anything.”

Chris nodded, standing stiffly and walking over to the restroom in the far corner of the waiting area.

The door creaked as it opened, and the only other occupant glanced up, eyebrows raised as he took in Chris’ presence. The man looked him over, taking in the dried blood and frowning slightly before pointedly turning away, finishing up and leaving the room as quickly as he could. Chris took his place at the sink, leaning both hands and staring into the cracked mirror in front of him. 

The image that stared back was haunted, with bloodshot eyes sunken into a pale, drawn face that he barely recognised as his own. Thin trickles of blood had slid down his face from tiny cuts in his forehead, merging and twisting together across his cheeks – souvenirs of the glass fragments that had rained down on him during the fire fight. 

He hadn’t even realised he was bleeding. Grabbing a couple of paper towels, he soaked them and began wiping away the blood, at first only succeeding in smearing the red liquid across his face. The water that swirled away down the sink turned red.

Finally the blood was gone, and Chris could see that the cuts were only superficial. He wasn’t sure that his appearance had improved much; he was still too pale, eyes dulled with pain and fear. He remembered this look – had worn it like a shroud in the weeks after his wedding, when dealing with funerals and grief had taken every scrap of energy he’d had left. 

When Chris had finally got back on his feet and started to put his life back together, he’d promised himself that he’d never see that face in the mirror again, that he’d never let life do this to him again.

And yet here he was, six years later, standing in another hospital restroom, staring at that same reflection – and what had he achieved in the interim?

Chris Keel, CI5 had done his duty, stood up for justice and stopped the bad guys remarkably successfully, doing his bit to make the world a better place, but what about Chris Keel, the man?

He had a cherished friendship with Sam that he’d do anything to protect, but then, he’d lost friends at the wedding that he’d loved just as much. In the end, death didn’t seem to care who it claimed.

He had no family to speak of, his phone calls to those who had survived the massacre dwindling in frequency over the years. No one was waiting for him when he finished work at night, there was no-one to hold him, no-one to take care of and be taken care of in return. He found no comfort in the arms of the girls he met, none of them seeming to care enough to deal with the inconvenience of a job he couldn’t talk about and long hours he couldn’t predict.

Paul was right. 

This was no way to live.

 

~*~*~

 

“Mr. Keel?”

The white-coated man standing in front of him holding a set of medical charts was obviously a doctor, and both Chris and Backup got to their feet hesitantly, afraid of what they were going to hear.

“Mr Curtis is in recovery and resting nicely. The surgery went well; we’ve removed the bullet and it didn’t hit any vital organs. It’ll be a while before he’s back to full strength, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t make a complete recovery.” Then the doctor sobered slightly. “Your friend was a very lucky man, Mr. Keel. A few centimetres higher and it would have been a very different outcome.”

Chris nodded mutely as Backup thanked the doctor, a wide smile on her features as she threw her arms round Chris and hugged him in relief. Chris simply felt sick. A few centimetres was all that had made the difference – pure, blind luck that the guy hadn’t taken another second to find a better aim.

“Thank you, doctor,” Backup spoke first, and Chris didn’t miss the puzzled glance she threw him when he wasn’t demonstrably relieved. “Can we see him?”

“Mr. Curtis is still in recovery, all being well we should be able to move him to a ward within the hour. I’ll have a nurse come and take you to him then.”

More thanks and Backup was shaking the doctor’s hand, the conversation apparently over. The doctor half-turned to Chris automatically, and Chris found himself also exchanging pleasantries on a kind of autopilot, staring numbly after the doctor as he walked away to get back to his other patients.

“Chris?” Backup had stepped in front of him, head slightly to one side as she scrutinised him, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Someone has to call Malone and let him know about Sam. I’ll do it.” With that he walked away, fighting the urge to break into a run, anything to get out of the building as soon as possible and find some fresh air. Tina made no effort to stop him.

 

~*~*~

 

The air outside the hospital was cold and he shivered in his t-shirt, wishing he’d thought to pick up his jacket before coming out of the building. Morning had broken, the grass beneath his feet slick with early morning dew and Chris walked away from the automatic doors, finding a quiet place just round the corner where he could lean against the damp wall in relative privacy.

He pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, switching it on and waiting for it to power up before dialling Ops and asking to be put through to Malone.

“Malone.”

“Four-five, sir.”

“Mr Keel,” Malone’s voice sounded relieved as it came through the speaker. “How is Mr. Curtis?”

“We’ve just heard from the doctor. The bullet missed everything vital. He’ll be off-duty for a while, but they think he should make a full recovery.”

“Thank God.” The words were spoken quietly, and were so unexpected that Chris almost thought he’d imagined them.

“Sir?”

“Are you all right, Mr Keel?”

Chris hesitated, the automatic response of ‘I’m fine’ suddenly sticking in his throat.

“Mr Keel? Are you hurt?”

“No sir.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Chris had the distinct feeling that Malone didn’t believe his automatic denial. Finally Malone spoke: “Very well. Keep me informed of Mr. Curtis’ progress.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chris snapped his phone shut, but didn’t immediately walk back into the hospital. Instead he wandered over to a nearby bench and sank down onto it, ignoring the dampness that immediately made itself known.

Sam was going to be fine. Relaying the doctor’s words to Malone had somehow made that fact real, though Chris knew he wouldn’t be completely reassured until Sam had woken up and spoken to him, and he’d seen some of the resigned acceptance that Sam always displayed after something like this. The relief that he’d pulled through always seemed to amuse Sam somehow, easing the initial recovery until he was well enough to begin whatever physiotherapy or retraining he needed. Then Sam’s famous determination would shine through, and he would embrace the task with all the single-mindedness that he normally used in their investigations.

Chris hated the fact that he knew that for certain; that this had happened so often he could predict exactly what Sam’s reaction would be, could almost recite verbatim the conversations they were going to have in the coming weeks. It was a dance they’d been involved in for years, each taking on the role of the patient in turn as Fate decided.

And when it happened to him for the last time, when he was permanently invalided out of the service, or when a bullet finally did the job it was designed for and he was killed, what would he have to show for it?

A name on the wall of remembrance in CI5 headquarters and a small, military funeral in the secluded grounds of St Anne’s Church in the heart of Kent, where all CI5 funerals were held. Unless, that is, his body was flown back to the US to be buried alongside his late wife.

Either way, he would leave nothing and nobody behind. Sure, people would grieve for him; Sam and Backup, for instance, assuming they’d outlived him. Even Malone would, he suspected, having worked for CI5 long enough to know that beneath the icy exterior of the CI5 chief was a man who cared deeply for the men and women under his command.

But Chris wasn’t sure it was enough.

He’d always dreamed of having a big family; a loving wife and as many kids as they could manage, and as they grew up he’d tell them stories of his adventures, then years later do the same with his grandchildren, who would never believe that the gray-haired old man who walked with a stick had once flown jet fighters and been a member of an infamous SEALS unit.

He and Terri had planned it all, but the one thing they’d not worked out was how he was going to cope if those dreams were shattered.

Looking back, Chris wasn’t sure that he’d coped at all.

He’d decided to resign from the service as soon as he and Terri had set their wedding day, well aware that a family man had no business being in the service, not doing the kind of jobs he did. It had been like starting a whole new life. But when she’d died, he’d thrown himself back into his work, chasing away the memories of what he’d lost and the plans they’d made with every impossible mission. 

In a way, he’d been treading water all these years, trying to pretend like nothing had happened and seeking refuge in a world he’d once come so close to leaving, afraid to try and recreate something of what he’d lost with someone else. A sea of nameless, faceless women he’d been afraid to get close to, only seeking out those who were equally uninterested in long term relationships. 

It wasn’t enough. Not anymore. 

He couldn’t live like this, waking up in another six years to realise that nothing had changed, that he was still doing the same thing day after day, helping to make the world safe so that people he’d never meet could live their lives in relative safety, and all the while sacrificing any hopes of future happiness he might have.

Things had to change – he’d long since paid his dues. It was time to start living.

 

~*~*~

 

Chris’ appearance in Ops was unexpected, that much was obvious from the surprise on people’s faces when he walked through the door.

“Chris!” Spencer called out, frowning as he removed his headset and walked over to him. “Is Sam okay?”

Chris nodded. “He’s fine. He was still in recovery when I left. I’m going back to the hospital as soon as I’m finished here, but Backup’s still there.” Spencer nodded, relaxing slightly at the news. Chris glanced over at Malone’s office, seeing that the blinds were drawn. “Is Malone in a meeting?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Chris clapped Spencer on the shoulder, smiling briefly at him before moving towards Malone’s office and knocking on the door.

“Yes?” the deep voice called out.

Chris opened the door and walked inside.

Malone was in his usual place, seated behind the grand oak desk, pinstripe suit perfectly in place as he signed off reports with fluid, elaborate handwriting. As Chris closed the door behind him, he wondered idly whether anything would ever rattle the man’s composed exterior. He’d been on the receiving end of Malone’s furious lectures on more than one occasion, but even when he was shouting, the man always looked immaculate.

Malone glanced up from the pile of reports, his pen never stopping as it flew quickly over the page, leaving thin trails of blue ink in its wake. His gaze settled on Chris for just a second before dropping back to the files, and he spoke without looking up again.

“What’s on your mind, Mr Keel?”

“My resignation,” he replied bluntly.

The pen stilled, ink soaking untidily into the paper and for a moment Malone didn’t move. Standing in front of the desk, waiting for the explosion that Chris was convinced was coming, he suddenly felt for all the world like a naughty schoolboy, standing in front of the principal and waiting for his punishment for whatever trouble he’d got himself in this time.

The moment passed, and then Malone placed his pen carefully on the desk before looking up at Chris, his expression unreadable.

“Sit down, Mr Keel.”

Chris did as he was told, uncomfortably aware of the dried blood that still streaked his jeans and sweater. When he met Malone’s gaze again, it was obvious that Malone had seen it as well.

“Do you need medical attention?” he asked quietly.

Chris shook his head.

“Has there been a change in Mr. Curtis’ condition since you last called in?”

“No, sir. The doctor expects him to make a full recovery.”

“Then why do you wish to resign?”

Chris sighed. “This isn’t about Sam getting shot, sir,” he paused then, ignoring the brief shadow of scepticism that flashed across Malone’s face.

“Then what is it about?”

Chris was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to put into words everything he was feeling. “It’s about me, sir,” he began hesitantly. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“By this, you’re referring to…?”

“Any of it. Working myself into the ground day after day, having no life of my own outside my duty to CI5, watching people I care about get hurt again and again – I’m on first name terms with the nurses at the hospital for God’s sake!” Suddenly Chris realised his voice had risen until he was almost shouting, gesturing wildly in his attempts to get his point across. He subsided with a quiet sigh, somewhat embarrassed at his outburst.

Malone leaned forward onto his desk, hands clasped together and a slight frown on his face as he spoke. “Life in the service isn’t easy, Mr. Keel, you know that better than most. You knew that when you came here, and nothing’s changed.” The words were harsh, pointed, but Malone’s tone was surprisingly gentle, and when Chris glanced up he thought he saw the slightest trace of sympathy in his boss’ eyes.

“I just…” Chris ran a hand through his hair, weary and suddenly so very, very tired. “I knew what the job was when I came here, sir, and it’s no more demanding than the SEALS was, that’s not what I’m saying. After the massacre, you gave me the chance to start over and put my life back together – that’s a chance I’d never have got in the Navy and I’m grateful. But it’s been five years, and I’ve changed. I want something different out of life now, and I can’t get that here.” Chris’ words had started out hesitant and unsure, but the more he spoke, trying to somehow justify himself to Malone, the more certain Chris became that he was doing the right thing.

“Have you spoken to Mr. Curtis about this?”

Chris shook his head silently, heart sinking at the thought of having to explain his sudden decision to Sam.

A knock on the door startled them both, and a second later Spencer bustled in.

“Not now, Mr. Spencer,” Malone cut in before the man could speak.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the Minister…”

“I said, not now! Tell the Minister I’m in a very important meeting.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer nodded, backing out of the room slowly and closing the door with a curious glance at Chris.

“I’m not going to accept your resignation, Mr. Keel,” Malone began when they were alone once more.

“What? But…”

“But I have listened to what you said,” he continued, ignoring Chris’ outburst as if the man hadn’t even spoken. “I’m going to place you on desk duty for three weeks, to give you some time to think about your decision while Mr. Curtis gets back on his feet.”

“I’m not going to change my mind, sir,” Chris muttered stubbornly.

The ghost of a smile edged across Malone’s normally expressionless features. “Then think of this as working your notice, Christopher.” Hearing Malone use his Christian name stunned Chris into silence. “Organise your files, finish your reports on all your active cases, and I want you to see one of the staff counsellors. If, after that time is up, you still wish to leave, then I’ll accept your resignation.”

Chris nodded his thanks and got to his feet, turning to the door when Malone picked up his pen once more. He had barely touched the handle when Malone spoke again.

“Mr. Keel?” Chris stopped but didn’t turn around to face his boss, instead facing the wooden door with one hand resting on the handle. “I would suggest, as soon as he has sufficiently recovered, that you speak to Mr. Curtis?”

Chris nodded, leaving the office without another word.

 

~*~*~

 

Sam was still in recovery by the time Chris had changed his blood-soaked clothes and made it back to the hospital. Used to the quirks of treating CI5 agents, the hospital staff allowed Chris into Sam’s recovery room without comment and, ignoring the bemused looks that Backup was throwing him, Chris spent the time thinking over his impulsive decision. Strangely, even though he hadn’t really thought seriously about leaving the services until now, Chris couldn’t find any part of him that was regretting handing in his resignation.

In fact, the only thing he could find it in him to regret was that he hadn’t spoken to Sam first. Sam wasn’t going to take the news well, and Chris couldn’t really blame him. If their roles had been reversed and Chris had been the one to wake up from getting shot, only to discover that Sam had quit while his partner was in surgery, Chris knew he’d have been furious. But it was done now. He couldn’t change it, and he had no intention of retracting his resignation no matter how many shrinks Malone sicced on him.

Now all he had to do was convince Sam that he’d made the right decision, and that it had nothing to do with Sam’s shooting. That wasn’t strictly true, since the shooting outside the club had definitely been the catalyst which had made Chris really face his conflicting emotions, but Sam would only feel guilty if he thought his shooting had been the thing to drive his partner away, however unfounded that guilt might be.

Then, of course, there was the question of exactly what he was going to *do* once his career with CI5 was over. Paul’s offer was certainly intriguing, and no doubt the only way he’d be able to walk straight into gainful employment, but after careful thought Chris dismissed it. He’d never worked in an office before, having been fixated on becoming a pilot since he was old enough to make model fighter jets with his father, and the idea of helping to run a business didn’t appeal, even if advising corporations on how to increase their security was a typical career move for ex-servicemen beginning a civilian life.

Chris didn’t have to worry about earning a regular wage for a while. CI5 paid surprisingly well, not to mention the fact that their insane workload meant that they very rarely got any time off to spend the money that they’d worked so hard to earn. And, given that he and his sister were the only surviving members of the wealthy Keel family, there was a large inheritance behind him that Chris had never tapped into. No, he had plenty of time to decide what direction his life should take. Jumping from one security job to another, albeit one with substantially less risk, wasn’t what he’d resigned for.

A soft moan from the bed at his side attracted Chris’ attention and he rose from his chair, watching carefully for any signs of undue distress as Sam began to awaken. 

“Hey partner,” he said softly as Sam’s eyes flickered open, feeling an unfamiliar pang as he said words that wouldn’t be true for much longer. “You’re in hospital. You’ve been shot, remember?”

Dull eyes glanced hazily around the room for a few seconds before Sam finally focused on Chris, and the small spark of recognition had Chris sighing in relief as he reached across and pressed the call button.

“Chris?” Sam croaked, and Chris grinned as he leaned in closer to his friend. 

“I’m here. You got shot, but it’s not too serious. You’ll be up and about in no time,” he reassured.

Sam nodded, blinking slowly. Then the nurse appeared, and the small room became a bustle of activity as Chris was pushed gently, but firmly, out of the way. Vitals were checked, morphine levels adjusted, and by the time the nurses were satisfied that all was well with their patient, Sam was already fast asleep.

 

~*~*~

 

The more Chris thought about telling Sam what he’d done, the more concerned he became, turning the coming conversation over and over in his head until he barely knew which way was up.

In fact, he was so caught up in his fears that he didn’t realise Sam was awake until the man spoke. “What’s wrong?”

Sam’s normally strong voice was weak, but steady, and as Chris turned to face his partner he had the distinct feeling that Sam had been watching him for a while. “Sam?”

Sam sighed once, closing his eyes briefly before speaking again. “You look dreadful. What’s happened?”

“You got shot,” Chris said bluntly.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed wearily, shifting awkwardly on the bed. “And it hurts like a son of a bitch. But I’ve been shot before, and this is just a scratch. So what is it?”

Chris couldn’t hold back the tired smile. Here was the grim determination he’d been expecting from all the other times that Sam had been hurt, along with the usual blanket dismissal of any kind of injury that didn’t have him at death’s door. But Sam was still waiting for an answer, and was obviously already well enough not to take ‘nothing’ for an answer.

Taking a deep breath, Chris told him the truth. “I’ve resigned.”

Shock and confusion flickered across Sam’s face for just a split second, so briefly that only someone who knew him as well as Chris did would have noticed. Then it was gone, concealed behind the flawless poker face that had fleeced almost everyone at CI5 over the years. “You what?” he asked.

“I’ve resigned,” Chris repeated, dropping his gaze to his hands, which were fiddling nervously with a loose button on his leather jacket. “I gave Malone my resignation this morning.”

“Why?”

“Because…I’ve had enough,” Chris said. “I don’t want to see the inside of another hospital for as long as I live. I’ve lost too many people, Sam. I’ve given up enough. There has to be more to life than…” he hesitated, glancing around the hospital room in vain, searching for the right words. In the end he simply shrugged, throwing one arm up into the air in a helpless gesture. “…than this,” he finished lamely.

Sam sighed. “Chris, if this is because I was stupid enough to get myself shot,” he began, but Chris cut him off. 

“It’s not, Sam. I was already thinking about it, today just made me make a decision. I’ve been doing this for nearly fifteen years, Sam, and I want something else from life. Something…permanent. Something that people can’t take away.”

Sam shook his head, hurt now written clearly across his face. “Why didn’t you say something?” he snapped. “I would have preferred some kind of warning that my partner was thinking about buggering off into the distance, Chris.”

Chris could hear the anger beginning to grow into Sam’s voice, tempered only by his exhaustion and the medication being fed through the IV.

“I did bring it up. Last night before the shooting started, we were talking about leaving, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sam said incredulously. “But damn it, Chris, I thought we were just passing the time, you know, like talking about legalised thugs or British politics. I didn’t know that you were trying to tell me that our partnership was over!”

“Well I hadn’t made the decision then,” Chris protested feebly.

“Oh, and I don’t get any say in the matter? I’m just the last one to know, never mind that I’m the one you’re leaving in the lurch without so much as an apology?”

Chris’ temper flared. “Oh, you’re hardly the last person to know, Sam. I’ve only told Malone. But this is my decision to make, Sam, not yours. I am sorry that you’re upset, I really am. But I’m not going to carry on in CI5 just to keep you happy – that’s the quickest way to get us both killed. I’m leaving, and that’s the end of it.”

 

~*~*~

 

And it was, at least for a while. The next three weeks passed in a haze of paperwork and psychiatry appointments. When Chris wasn’t writing up reports on his old cases and briefing the other CI5 agents on those cases that were still open, he spent almost every waking hour at the hospital with Curtis. At first he was simply visiting, the atmosphere between them strained by the knowledge that Chris was leaving, that they had little time left. Several times Chris tried to discuss his resignation again, needing Sam to understand why he was leaving, but Sam refused to listen, always either changing the subject or cutting him off until Chris simply gave up.

They had a few days apart once Sam had been discharged from the hospital, but when his physiotherapy began Chris spent every morning helping Sam and CI5’s staff physio rebuild the muscles he’d lost from the shooting. It was exhausting work for both of them, and after each session Chris drove Sam home in relative silence, exchanging polite conversation as both men consciously kept away from more sensitive subjects.

Three times a week Chris kept his own appointments, enduring seemingly endless psychiatrist meetings were they talked about Sam, the shooting, the wedding, and anything else that the shrink thought was appropriate. For once Chris cooperated, opening up to the questions properly for the first time since he’d joined CI5, and that, more than anything, convinced the Powers That Be that Chris was serious about leaving, and that this was no knee-jerk reaction to his partner’s injury.

So, three weeks later, Chris again found himself in Malone’s office, handing over his ID card and his gun as Malone officially accepted his resignation.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go Mr Keel,” Malone said as he signed off the last of the paperwork. “If you ever find yourself in need of anything, CI5’s resources will be available,” he continued, adding almost as an afterthought, “within reason.”

Chris grinned, instinctively standing to attention in front of Malone’s desk. “Thank you for everything, sir,” he replied. “I’ll always be grateful for the chance you gave me when I left the SEALS.”

Malone raised one eyebrow. “I did no such thing,” he said curtly. “CI5 isn’t in the habit of taking on charity cases, Mr Keel.” But the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “You got here purely on your own merit.”

 

~*~*~

 

It was odd, really. Chris had always been up for a party, never wasting a chance to cut loose and have a little fun until now. The fact that he hadn’t wanted to publicly celebrate his leaving had been as much of a surprise to him as it had to anyone else, but once he’d made the decision he’d stood by it.

He wanted to leave quietly, and so, after all the official paperwork had been filed in triplicate, Chris had cleared out his locker and gone round the building, saying his goodbyes quietly, without fuss.

Now there was only one person left.

Sam. 

His was the one goodbye that Chris was dreading, because he had no idea what he was going to say. After all, what could he say to someone who had carried him across the African plains after a plane crash they’d been lucky to survive? The man who had saved Chris’ life a hundred times over, and whose life Chris had saved in return?

When Chris had returned to Ops itself Sam was nowhere to be seen. Chris hovered for a while, hoping that his partner would return from wherever he had gone, but each passing moment made him more and more nervous about the coming conversation. It didn’t help that, even if there was no official goodbye being organised, the entire building knew that this was Chris’ last day, and people were surrounding him in a steady stream of goodbyes and reminiscences. 

Eventually Chris managed to extricate himself from the masses and, after a quiet word with Backup, left the building and went for a walk. He found himself standing on the Millennium Bridge overlooking the River Thames, leaning on the railing and watching the river rushing past below him. The late afternoon sun was cool, but its light was reflecting off the rippling surface of the water and Chris lost himself gratefully in simply watching the tide, tuning out the constant roar of traffic behind him.

“You don’t make this easy, Chris,” Sam’s sardonic voice interrupted Chris’ thoughts. “Could you possibly have walked any further?” 

Chris glanced up from his contemplation of the river to see Sam standing a few feet away from him, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as he balanced awkwardly on his crutches. Chris smiled hesitantly, glad to see his former partner but wary of the coming conversation. 

Sam returned the smile, slowly crossing the few feet between them and leaning gratefully on the stone wall in front of them, extracting his arms from the crutches and letting them stand next to him. “I never could get the hang of these things,” he commented.

“Did Backup tell you I was here?” Chris asked.

“Nope. You always come out here when you need to think. I’ve known that for years.” Chris raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d never mentioned his tendency to come out to the bridge to anyone, and Sam had never followed him out here before. At his look of surprise, Sam laughed. “I’m a spook, remember?”

They both fell silent then, staring out over the river and watching the golden reflection of the setting sun as it danced over the water. All around them people hurried past in cars or on foot; it was rush hour, a Friday at that, and half of London seemed to be in a hurry to get home from work.

It was Sam who eventually broke the silence. “You’re really leaving, aren’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze never wavering from his contemplation of the river flowing beneath them.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Sam asked after a moment, repeating the same question he’d asked back at the hospital. But unlike then Chris was calmer, his emotions no longer running riot after the shock of the shooting and his own reaction to it. In turn Sam’s voice no longer displayed the shock that Chris’ revelation had prompted, and Chris also returned to the words he’d used in the sterile hospital room, hoping that Sam was now ready to hear him.

“I’ve had enough, Sam,” he said. “I’ve given up everything for the services. I lost my wife, most of my family and any chance of a normal life over these last years, and I don’t regret it – I still believe in what we do. But I can’t do it any more. I need something…else now.” he turned to face Sam, then, searching his former partner’s face for any sign that the man understood what he was trying to say. “I want a life that’s *mine*, that’s something more than snatches of time between cases. I don’t want to live at the whim of the service anymore. We spend our entire lives protecting everyone else,” he continued, gesturing at the people driving over the bridge in a constant stream of traffic, “at the expense of our own lives and happiness. We live our lives never knowing whether the people we allow ourselves to get close to are going to survive from day to day. I’ve been in the military since I was eighteen years old, Sam. I’ve already lost one chance at having a family – I don’t want to wake up in twenty years time and realise that I’ve missed any other chances I might have had.”

Sam watched him solemnly, his face displaying no reaction at all to Chris’ words until he finally began to nod slowly, a gentle smile appearing on his lips as he sighed before turning back to the river. “In some ways I admire you, Chris,” he admitted quietly. “We all think like that, sometimes, but I’m not sure I’d ever actually be brave enough to take that step to leave all this behind and go searching for something else.”

Chris laughed at the absurd notion that staying in a job where you danced with Death on a daily basis could somehow be cowardly, but he also understood what Sam meant. Even given the extreme lives that they lived, it was always easier to maintain the status quo, to stay working within an organisation where your life was, essentially, mapped out for you. 

People told you where to go and what to do – you followed orders, were trained to act and react in a certain way and Chris knew he’d been damn good at his job, but somehow walking away from the rules, the regulations and the immediate backup that working for CI5 provided was scary in itself, sending a thrill through him at the idea of actually being completely in control of his own destiny for possibly the first time in his life.

“Are you going to go and work for your SEAL friend?” Sam asked.

“No,” Chris said. “Actually, I have no idea what I’m going to do,” he added with a grin, and Sam smiled.

“Are you coming back to HQ?”

Chris shook his head. “My resignation became official today - Malone’s put me on gardening leave.”

Sam nodded soberly. Once an agent had left CI5’s employ - even if the parting was an amicable one – security was still an issue, and the usual month’s notice didn’t exist. The requisite visits to the staff psychiatrists had all been completed, all Chris’ reports were up-to-date and his active cases had now been reassigned.

“So this really is it, huh?” Sam echoed, and Chris felt a tiny pang of…something…at the realisation that it was, finally, over.

He was a civilian again.

“Yep,” he said simply, before adding with a grin, “Hey, we always thought the only way I’d leave CI5 would be in a body-bag. At least this is to be an improvement.”

Sam grinned, but the smile did little to dissipate the sadness that Chris could see in his eyes. The same sadness, he suspected, that showed on his own face. He had no regrets about leaving – in fact the closer he’d come to his last day, the more certain he’d been that this was the right decision, but he still couldn’t help looking back with some measure of regret. 

He’d found a home in CI5 when he’d badly needed to belong somewhere. Finding such close friends in Sam and Backup had allowed him to put down roots and, in some small way, helped to offset the terrible feeling of being so completely alone that he’d battled with after the massacre. Just because CI5 wasn’t what he wanted from life anymore, that didn’t mean he wanted to walk away from absolutely everything.

Sam sighed. “You’re not going to disappear off the face of the earth, Chris, are you?” he asked seriously, his tone telling Chris exactly what he thought of *that* idea. 

“Of course not,” Chris answered softly. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Curtis.”

“Good. I’ll come looking if I don’t hear from you every few weeks,” Sam said, his stern voice betrayed by the sudden twinkle in his eyes. “And you know better than most what kind of resources I can use to track you down if I have to.”

Chris threw up his hands in mock horror, his laughter cut short when he saw Sam straightening up stiffly and reaching for his crutches.

“Have you got to head back?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with regret. “I might still be on desk duty but Malone’s got me doing paperwork for most of the office, I think.”

“Nice,” Chris drawled wryly, and the two men faced each other mutely for a moment, both aware that this was it, the moment of goodbye they’d been dancing around since Sam first appeared on the bridge.

In the end Sam broke the stalemate, stepping forward and holding his hand out for Chris to shake with a slightly embarrassed grin.

Chris couldn’t hold back a laugh at the very *Englishness* of that gesture, of the idea that Sam would end a partnership as close as theirs with a handshake. He returned the gesture, solemnly shaking hands with his friend before reaching round with his other hand and pulling Sam into a tight hug. Sam hugged him back, balancing awkwardly between the crutches and Chris’ hold.

Eventually the moment passed and the two men stepped apart, Sam finding his balance again before looking up at Chris with suspiciously bright eyes. 

“You’d better go,” Chris said quietly. “Before Malone sends the dogs out to find you.”

Sam nodded. “Take care of yourself,” he replied.

“Always,” Chris replied with a grin, before adding, “You too. God knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into without me around to get you out of it.”

Sam smiled, but the quick retort that Chris was expecting never came. Instead, Sam just nodded. “Bye Chris,” he finished, before turning and walking away, heading back over the bridge in the direction of Ops.

Chris stood silently, watching him go until Sam and his crutches were little more than a spec in the distance, often obscured by other hurrying people and traffic. Then, eventually, Sam turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

Chris didn’t move immediately, his gaze watching idly back over the bridge, where Curtis had gone. After a while, though, he shook himself, running a hand briefly over his eyes before heading out in the opposite direction, doing up his coat against the cold wind that was settling in over London. 

The road ahead was full of possibilities, of things he could now do and see, places he had never visited, and for the first time, Chris had no idea where he’d be in two weeks time, or next month, next year.

The knowledge was freeing, exhilarating, and Chris embraced it with growing excitement. The world did, literally, lie at his feet. He could go anywhere he wanted. 

But first, before any of that, he was finally going to go and visit his wife.


End file.
